


Choice

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dragon Reserve, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Multi, No Incest, Post-War, Second War with Voldemort, Threesome - F/M/M, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29545404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: Each step was painful, as if he were fighting destiny herself for control as the golden string between them stretched taut, stealing his breath and urging him to turn around.To look at her.To go to her.To claim her.To keep her safe.He somehow made his way to the bathroom on the upper levels of the home and splashed cold water on his face, momentarily quelling the pull towards the young witch he barely knew.
Relationships: Bill Weasley & Charlie Weasley, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Hermione Granger/Bill Weasley, Hermione Granger/Bill Weasley/Charlie Weasley, Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley
Comments: 41
Kudos: 125
Collections: Evil Author Musings





	Choice

**Author's Note:**

> In the midst of the great Texas Weather Catastrophe of 2021, I apparently missed Evil Author Day. My family is safe and warm and back in our home after staying with one of my colleagues for a few days. So far, so good but we are not fully out of the woods yet. All that said, I'm posting late. I've got something like 5 or 6 chapters of this drafted of an estimated 10 to 20. I started working on it during NaNo and then life went crazy and I stopped. 
> 
> This first chapter was beta'd by MelodyLePetit way back in November. <3

Light filtered in through the curtains to cast a hazy, orange glow over his old bedroom, illuminating Charlie’s empty bed and casting a shadow over his own save for the small sliver of light that coloured the edge of the pillow. Despite the call of the morning sun, Bill curled his body around the sleeping witch lying beside him, brushing her long silver hair away from the sharp line of her cheek bones and tucking it behind her ear. He nuzzled against her, the wolf inside of him purring with contentment as his future bride slept soundly next to him. 

From the moment he’d caught a glimpse of her tenacity and cunning during the Triwizard Tournament, he’d been fascinated with the quarter-Veela witch. It wasn’t even that her Veela traits called to him—the wolf constantly pacing around within him, searching for something Bill couldn’t quite place, ensured he was nearly immune to any _allure_ she intentionally or unintentionally used to get her way. 

It still made him chuckle and tease her when she tried. 

They’d begun dating not long after Fleur had graduated from Beaubaxtons when he had been sent on assignment to France for six months to assist with a project conducted by the French Ministry of Magic in Burgundy. It had been a whirlwind romance full of laughter, stolen kisses, and nights staying up far too late talking about anything and everything. He’d taken her out beneath the full moon, a bottle of wine and a basket filled with sweet fruit, savoury meats and cheese, and crusty bread with the intent to propose when the werewolf attacked. Bill might forever bear the mark of the other wolf, but the moment he turned, instead of rounding on Fleur, he took his sire out which gave Fleur a chance to apparate away. The next morning, when she’d returned to find him, she’d been distraught and his new furry companion who constantly seemed to fight for dominance in Bill’s mind was quite taken with the witch. 

Once he’d been taken to a Healer in Burgundy and declared healthy despite his new diagnosis of Lycanthropy, Fleur threw her arms around his neck and asked him to marry her. 

It was unexpected and perfect and he’d swept her off of her feet and twirled her around right there in the waiting room. He loved her and while the wolf inside of him was rather partial to her as well, it continued to pace as if something were off, though Bill was unable to determine what that might be. 

Fleur turned in his arms and his lips brushed against her forehead. “Eet iz too early,” she mumbled, her accent thick in her sleepy haze. 

His arms curled around her, tucking his bride-to-be against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“Zere iz too much to do,” she yawned, her arm coming to drape across his chest. “I suspect your mother ‘as been awake for hours.” 

Bill smiled, knowing Fleur was likely right in her assessment. He might not be able to hear Molly Weasley bustling around downstairs, but he’d eat his leather boots if she wasn’t already awake. “Get a bit more rest, I can go help mum for a bit.” 

Fleur shook her head, “ _ Non _ , stay.” 

“One of us has to get up, pet.” Bill drew his fingers through her hair, tiling her head back just enough so he could kiss her gently. “We have a big day tomorrow. Get some rest where you can.” 

She hummed and curled further into him, draping one leg over his which caused him to chuckle. Bill held her tightly against his chest, arm wrapped around her lithe form until her breathing evened out once more and he was certain she had fallen back to sleep. With easy movements, he shifted her away from him and tucked the blankets around her body before slipping out of bed. 

He crept out of the room, leaving the sleeping witch in his bed and padded on bare feet down the short hallway to make his way downstairs. His childhood home had changed little in the years since he had moved away to work for Gringotts. The walls were still lined with moving photos spanning his and his sibling’s childhoods, quilts were folded at the foot of empty beds, and the furniture was mismatched to a degree he was so used to that it would feel strange were it not. 

He found his mother in the kitchen, pans scrubbing away at the sink as she directed her wand at the stove. The smell of bacon, eggs, and toasted bread filled his nostrils and Bill sighed in contentment. Perhaps he should visit home more often. 

“Morning mum,” he said, dropping a kiss to his mother’s cheek before shifting around the busy witch to make a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning, Bill, dear,” Molly said, carefully directing her wand to turn the rashers of bacon in the pan. “Fleur still sleeping?” 

He nodded, out of habit more than anything, but added a verbal confirmation when he realized his mother couldn’t see him as he drew water from the tap to fill the coffee-maker. “Yes, I told her to sleep in. She’ll need her rest since tomorrow is a rather big day.” 

“Oh!” Molly turned around, wand pointed toward her son in a casual gesture. “That reminds me. Harry and Hermione will be arriving today to help with preparations.” 

Bill chuckled, feeding the grounds into the filter and setting the bitter beverage to brew with a swirl of his wand. “Pretty sure they’re coming to see Ron and Ginny, mum. Been attached at the hip since they were eleven.” 

Relaxing against the counter in a casual lean, Bill folded his arms across his chest and watched his mother masterfully control her kitchen. Bacon moved from the pan without a drop of grease spilling anywhere, eggs were perfectly scrambled, crusty bread was toasted above an open flame, spinning in the air until it was a perfect golden brown. The kitchen in the Burrow had always been one of Bill’s favorite places and even though his mother could be a bit overbearing and opinionated, he loved her and always made certain to spend some time with her in the kitchen each time he was home. 

“Mark my words, William Weasley,” she pointed her wand at him again for emphasis before adding more bacon to the pan, “They’ll both be joining our family before too long.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. Molly Weasley, always the planner. “Got their wedding robes picked out, do you?” 

Molly extinguished the fire and the toasted bread was sent to a plate in a tidy stack with a flick of her wand. “We’ll count our stars lucky if Ginevra doesn’t run off with Harry in the middle of the night. Ronald, however—he’ll want something more traditional and I suspect Hermione might, as well.” 

“We’ll see about that, mum.” 

Bill had been far too busy to notice the arrival of the others. Charlie had arrived just in time for breakfast and as soon as the meal was finished, their mother had chased them outside and told them to go get the Marquee set up in the yard. It had taken most of his brothers and his father to get the thing to remain stable, but now it stood proudly in the orchards ready for his mother to fill it with flowers and table linens.

“You ready for this?” Charlie asked, knocking Bill with his shoulder and looking at the tent which in twenty-four hours time would be filled with guests for  _ his _ wedding. It was still surreal to him that he’d found the love of his life and, even though he knew the wizarding world was on the brink of war, hoped for a long, beautiful life with Fleur. 

“Couldn’t be more ready, little brother.” 

Charlie shoved him and Bill laughed, something full and hearty, and he slung his arm around Charlie’s shoulder as they made their way out of the orchards and to the house. 

* * *

Hermione was always glad to be back at the Burrow, even though she had been preparing for weeks in the event that they had to go on the run. With the induction of the Muggleborn Registration Commission and the Death Eaters taking over Hogwarts, it was more and more likely that they would be attempting to puzzle out Dumbledore’s task sooner than later. Honestly, the wizard could have left them more clues beyond what little Harry knew and a child’s book, a deluminator, and a golden snitch. 

Still, she kept her little beaded bag close, charmed to indefinitely expand. The moment she arrived at the Burrow, she crept upstairs on the guise of unpacking and lifted several items of Harry and Ronald’s clothing to store in her bag. She grabbed extra quilts and pillows and even managed to track down a magical tent, though it was old and well worn. Food was possibly the hardest provision to keep fresh, but she’d taken some money to Tesco and had bought several foods that would keep for months and placed them into the bag as well before arriving at the Burrow. 

With her parents memories taken care of, Hermione had pushed her thoughts of them away from her mind as best she could. They were safe in Australia and should she survive the war, the spell to reverse the memories she had buried so deeply within their minds was etched on her heart. 

Hermione crept down the rickety stairs and made her way into the living room, finding Ron and Harry engaged in a game of chess that Ron was certain to win. Her heart warmed at the sight of her friends engaged in a bit of normalcy when she knew that any day now their world might fall apart. She was thankful for the distraction and fell down into the plush sofa, slinging her bag off of her shoulder and letting it rest on the couch next to her. 

She watched the game play out. Harry’s eyes were narrowed as if he had a chance to win a game against Ron, but it was easy to see that in three moves, no matter how Harry moved across the board, that the game would end in checkmate. Judging by the smug look on Ron’s face, he knew it too. 

The back door opened and Hermione’s gaze was drawn from the already-won game to the sight of the two eldest Weasley brothers entering the home. Charlie was the tallest of the brothers with a rugged complexion from days spent outdoors at the Dragon Sanctuary in Romania and long, dark red hair bound at the back of his head in a bun. He wore a dark green t-shirt that stretched across a finely muscled chest and a pair of denims. Swirls of inky black and bursts of color coated his arms in tattoos Hermione couldn’t make out over the distance. 

Bill, on the other hand, was classically handsome. Having inherited the best traits of both of his parents, he was tall and lean like Arthur but there was a softness around his eyes that was all Molly. His shoulders were broader than she remembered, but she suspected that had something to do with his lycanthropy. His face was marked with the jagged scars of claw marks on one side and she knew that somewhere beneath the bright blue henley he wore that there would be a matching bite scar. 

Her crush on Ron was still in full effect and she had a lot to look forward to if he continued to grow like his brothers had. She gave a small wave of her hand and her cheeks heated when Bill’s eyes lingered on her for a beat of time longer than expected, mesmerized at how his bright blue gaze shifted to amber as the wolf came forward. 

She’d been fascinated with lycanthropy since discovering Professor Lupin’s secret in her third year and while literature was scarce, she’d studied what she could find that wasn’t completely defamatory against the werewolf population. Certainly there were werewolves like Fenrir Greyback who actively worked to infect others with the condition, but her association with Professor Lupin, and now Bill Weasley, made it clear that their humanity should not be discounted simply because for thirteen nights of a year they were dangerous creatures. 

“Heya Curly-Q,” Charlie said, dropping onto the sofa next to Hermione and throwing one of his arms over the top of the couch. “Who’s winning?” 

Hermione’s nose wrinkled and her eyes rolled at the nickname. “Who do you think?” 

Charlie laughed and Hermione felt her belly warm when she realized she could feel the vibrations of it rumble through her. “Right, no use in watching then, eh?” 

“He could surprise us one of these days, you know,” she said, tilting her head slightly towards Harry who was still deep in concentration. Hermione leaned over and whispered into Charlie’s ear. “It’s rare, but he has won once or twice.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Curly-Q.” Charlie tapped her on the nose and she swatted his hand away. “I reckon the only one of us who could regularly trounce Ronnikins at that game was Perce.” 

Hermione laughed, “I could see that. He would’ve made a good Ravenclaw.” 

“Checkmate!” Ron said leaving Harry to groan and rub his temples beneath the metal frames of his glasses. 

“Think he was too scared to be separated from the lot of us that the hat shoved him in Gryffindor so he wouldn’t end up crying on the stool.” Charlie stood up from the couch and clapped Ron on the shoulder, his blue eyes darting between Ron and Harry. “Mum needs you two to de-gnome the garden, they’re eating all of her rosemary and making a travesty out of the carrots.” 

Ron groaned but Harry’s eyes perked up a bit and Hermione thought he must be glad to not have to play another failed game of wizard’s chess with Ron. Charlie held up his hands in supplication, “Her words, not mine. Don’t hex the messenger.” 

Harry glanced at Hermione, “You going to join us? It’s a bit of a laugh, except when they try to bite you.” 

Hermione shook her head, fingers curling around the beaded bag on the seat next to her. “No, I’m going to find Ginny, I think. We’ve been helping with the flowers but I can only be pricked so many times before my poor fingers need a break.” She held up her hand, showing that two out of five fingers had been badgaged with a plaster. “I think she was going to take a turn around the orchards on her broom for a few minutes.” 

When she finally glanced back to where Bill had been standing, she couldn’t help but see the stiff set to his shoulders and the slight flare of his nostrils. He looked as if he were between flight or fight, his eyes having taken on a greenish shade as if stuck between the man and the wolf. Charlie must have noticed too because he had made his way over to his brother and guided him from the room, Hermione catching the last bit of the words Charlie said, “—where Fleur is.” 

Hermione brushed off the behavior as pre-wedding jitters and tethered the beaded bag onto her belt, intent to go find Ginny and get on with the ridiculous task of arranging flowers. 

* * *

It took several minutes to convince Charlie that he was, in fact, fine so that his brother would shove off for long enough to give him a bit of breathing room. 

Except that Bill was not fine. 

Not even remotely. 

He’d expected to come back into the Burrow, find his bride-to-be and sneak off with her for a few moments of uninterrupted bliss, but instead he’d been greeted by the stark realization that the barely-of-age witch sitting on the sofa watching his brother and their friend play wizard’s chess was a person of intense significance. 

He’d known werewolves had mates. It was documented in the literature, though glossed over in favor of highlighting the dangerous traits of werewolves. Having known a fellow wolf and his mate, it had been easy to see the way Remus and Tonks orbited one another as if they were destined, pre-determined to be perfect for one another with just the right amount of difference between them to keep the other challenged and committed. 

He felt like he’d been hit by a stunner. His feet were glued to the hardwoods with permanent sticking charms and the wolf stilled, easing to the forefront of his mind to gaze upon its mate. Internally, the wolf whined in his mind, urging Bill to move forward to get closer to her, whispering that they needed her—that she was  _ theirs _ . And when he was finally able to clear his mind and move away, the wolf howled in anguish as Bill walked away. 

Each step was painful, as if he were fighting destiny herself for control as the golden string between them stretched taut, stealing his breath and urging him to turn around. 

To look at her. 

To go to her. 

To claim her.

To keep her safe. 

He somehow made his way to the bathroom on the upper levels of the home and splashed cold water on his face, momentarily quelling the pull towards the young witch he barely knew. 

He’d heard of Hermione Granger since Ron was eleven and he’d talked their mother’s ear off about her and Harry over the holidays, but in reality, Bill had never even had a conversation with her outside of pleasantries. He didn’t know her hopes and dreams like he knew Fleur’s. He didn’t know anything about her beyond the fact that she was a smart witch whom his mother hoped would join their family one day as Ron’s wife, certainly not his. 

Could one even have a mate and a wife who were separate? Were they destined to be one in the same? 

Up until the moment he’d set his eyes upon the witch, he’d been certain of his future. He would marry Fleur, do what he could to make certain they won the war, and live a long and happy life with his wife and (hopefully) family. 

He had not planned on having or ever finding his mate. 

He had not planned on feeling as though he were drowning simply because he was not at her side. 

He couldn’t have planned for it. If anything, the love he felt for Fleur made him feel certain that she was the witch for him. She was a bright, shining star in a dark abyss who brought infinite joy to his life. He loved her, truly  _ loved _ her and now felt distinctly uncomfortable in the knowledge that she was not his mate. The wolf growled in his mind when he thought of Fleur but settled when he called forth the sweet smile and shy wave Hermione had given him and Charlie only moments before. 

Bill brushed his damp hair away from his face and braced his hands against the counter. His conscience and the wolf within him warred as Bill’s chest heaved with each word forced over his tongue, eyes flashing between amber and blue. 

“I choose Fleur.”


End file.
